


dancing (like it was the first time)

by pirateygoodness



Series: deep blue (but you painted me golden) [3]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Hair Braiding, slumber party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 06:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20130856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirateygoodness/pseuds/pirateygoodness
Summary: "Oh," Mona says. "We should -" she begins, before she catches herself. There are so many words she has to be careful about, these days. So many easy phrases that can be interpreted as a wish instead of a suggestion, and even at the wordshouldNora feels her magic begin to stir.  "I could have one with you," she says, once she's taken the time to compose her sentence properly. "If you'd like."Nora looks at the television again. The girls in the movie are dancing on the bed with towels on their heads, singing a pop song into hairbrush microphones. She wrinkles her nose. "What would we do?" she asks."Not that stuff," Mona says, reassuring. "Just, you know. Girl stuff."





	dancing (like it was the first time)

**Author's Note:**

> For kendrasaunders, who wanted: mona + nora "i can't believe you've never had a slumber party"
> 
> Title from "Dancing With Our Hands Tied" by Taylor Swift.

Nora's resting on the sofa in Mona's apartment. Her head's in Mona's lap, and she's perilously close to falling asleep. 

They're watching a movie where two college students fall in love very slowly; a series of misunderstandings and the pressures of her important scholarship and his poor communication draw things out over an hour and a half. Or rather: Mona is watching, and Nora is half-watching, half-dozing. 

Mona's playing with Nora's hair, is the thing. That always puts her into a state sort of like sleeping, makes her absent-minded and profoundly relaxed. 

Nora's left her hair down, and Mona's running her fingertips through the length of it absently as she watches. Earlier, she'd made a point of arranging it, fanning Nora's hair across her shoulder and back in a perfect arc. Now it's all orderly and ready to be petted, and Mona can drag her fingertips back and forth against the ends while she watches the movie, engrossed. Occasionally, she'll tickle at Nora's scalp with her nails. 

They're soft now. 

_Nora_ is soft now. She's the sort of person that lounges on the couch and half-watches silly movies and shivers with a sort of dreamy delight when Mona drags the soft edges of her nails down the back of her neck. 

"Why do they always do this, in movies?" Nora asks. The women onscreen are wearing pyjamas, doing face masks together and talking about boys in this odd way that's clearly supposed to be narrative shorthand. It feels like Nora should understand it, but there's a piece missing. She feels that way a lot, like everyone else went to Normal Girl School and got all these lessons in things that Nora didn't even know she'd missed. 

"Do what?" Mona asks. Her voice is soft and dreamlike; as if she's lulled herself into drowsiness with the feel of playing with Nora's hair. 

Nora gestures to the television. "This," she says. 

"What, like having a slumber party?" 

Nora shrugs. The movement bumps her shoulder against Mona's palm and she leaves it there, curling catlike into the contact. "Is that what it's called?" 

Mona is quiet for just long enough that Nora's lost feeling gets even stronger. Even _Mona_ was in class the day they explained slumber parties and nobody will even give Nora the notes to catch up. It gives her a soft little surge of anxiety, oily in the pit of her stomach. They talk about this a lot - Nora's past, the looping bizarreness of her life, the way she never really feels like she'll ever be normal. Mona's always understanding, and unfailingly patient, but Nora still worries. 

When Mona speaks, her voice is tender and a little bit sad. "You've never had one?" she says. 

Nora shakes her head, no. 

"Oh," Mona says. "We should -" she begins, before she catches herself. There are so many words she has to be careful about, these days. So many easy phrases that can be interpreted as a wish instead of a suggestion, and even at the word _should_ Nora feels her magic begin to stir. "I could have one with you," she says, once she's taken the time to compose her sentence properly. "If you'd like." 

Nora looks at the television again. The girls in the movie are dancing on the bed with towels on their heads, singing a pop song into hairbrush microphones. She wrinkles her nose. "What would we do?" she asks. 

"Not that stuff," Mona says, reassuring. "Just, you know. Girl stuff." 

+

They text about it, a lot. It feels like a negotiation, Mona sending options out and Nora telling her yes, no, or maybe. 

_Karaoke?_ Mona texts, appended with five emojis including the music notes, microphone and a flower. 

Nora laughs. It's maybe not appropriate, given her current context. She's in hell, at a large, ineffective meeting, because hell is huge on meetings that could have been emails. (There's great cell service, and that's another thing about it that doesn't make sense until it does.) But she can't help herself. Mona is just so - she does that to Nora. Makes her smile despite herself. 

_Hard no_, Nora replies. 

_Even if we sing the song from Aladdin?_ Mona counters, a winking face and a smiling face emoji following. 

Affection twists in Nora's chest. She just likes Mona so much and it's hard not to feel tender about just how good Mona is to her. That Nora likes any Disney movie at all is one of her most closely-held secrets; that song her favourite growing up. She can't believe that Mona remembered - except that she can, because Mona remembers everything. Mona treats Nora like everything about her is important. It's still taking some getting used to. _Soft no. But still no._

_Face masks?_

Nora frowns. _As in skin care products or Halloween?_

Mona responds with the eye-rolling emoji and Nora can picture her expression right now, exasperated but charmed and indulgent all at once. _Skin care, obviously. Remember I got those Korean ones?_

Nora smiles. She does remember, smiles to herself at the giggling video Mona had sent her the first time she'd tried one. She could do those. She could do this. She smiles down at her phone, and sends a response. _The Korean ones were cute. Can we do the ones with the faces?_

Mona replies with a flurry of emojis that Nora's learned by now means they can. 

\+ 

Nora meets Mona at her apartment. 

She's wearing her street clothes, jeans and a loose-fitted t-shirt and a sweater over all of that. It's cozy, a little warm for the weather but unstructured and absolutely nothing like her fairy godmother dress. Mona told her to wear pyjamas, but Nora couldn't quite stomach the idea of it on the bus. Her pyjama pants are soft cotton but thin enough to be gently transparent; when she wears them at home the lines of her underwear are visible through the hearts-and-stars printed fabric. It's appropriate for Mona's consumption, but not for the strangers on public transit, even with a sweater that goes down past her hips. 

She brought her pyjamas along, is carrying them in the tote bag Mona gave her as a gift. The black one printed with bats that says _I WITCH YOU A HAPPY HALLOWEEN_. 

She's nervous. 

She's always nervous, just a little, when she does something new. That feeling of being out of practice at the world, of not quite understanding how to be normal, it's better than it used to be. But it still lingers, heavy in the pit of her stomach, with every baby step out of her comfort zone. 

(And normal is relative, she knows that. She doesn't want the version of normal that's actually normal, the kind she sees on television. She just wants her version of normal. The version where she's an ex-demon-witch-fairy-godmother and Mona's part wolf part ex law student and they get to be in love. That's all.) 

Mona answers the door with the softest smile. "You came," she says. 

Mona's wearing the pyjama pants with little cartoon werewolves printed on them; the ones Nora found on sale at the Halloween store. She's matched them with a plain tank top, the straps narrow enough that Nora knows she's only wearing her little lacy lounge bra underneath, the black one Nora loves best. 

Mona's hair is long, these days. She's growing it out, and right now it's pulled back in a braid that runs down the middle of her back, the little wisps of shorter layers tucked back with bobby pins that have little sparkly pizza charms glued to them. She's cute, in the most romantic sense of the word. Cute in a way that makes Nora's breath catch and makes Nora want to hold her and kiss her and never let go. 

That anxious wobble in the pit of Nora's stomach eases. 

They do slumber party things. Mona has a list. Mona orders pizza while Nora changes into her pyjamas and reads through their slumber party itinerary. 

When the pizza arrives, they eat together on a pile of cushions on the floor, wiping their oily hands on paper towels. To Nora, who was taught that pizza should be eaten with a knife and fork, eating like this feels like the most luxurious kind of rebellion. The warmth of the crust against her fingertips is thrilling. 

She sits with her legs spread into a V, one knee bent and the other straight out. Mona mirrors her, their thighs in contact. When Mona leans over and kisses her, with lips that taste like oregano-spiced sauce and melted cheese, it makes Nora's heart catch in her throat. 

"I'd like to braid your hair next," Mona says. It's a statement of fact, not a question. That seems to be the best way to trick Nora's magic into leaving her dress and wand out of things. "Would you like that?" 

"I would," Nora says. They've eaten their fill of pizza, and done the sheet masks printed with Pokemon faces and giggled their way through a half-dozen sheet mask selfies that Nora's definitely going to use as her next lock screen. "If you think that would be fun." 

"Of course," Mona says. "I love playing with your hair." 

She just says things, sometimes. These casual little comments. As if it's obvious that there are things about Nora that are easy to love. It makes an answering love bubble up inside of Nora, warm and candy-pink just like the throw pillows they're sitting on. 

Nora takes a spare one, cuddles it to her chest and rests her nose on top. "Yeah," she says. "I'd like that."

"You want one braid, or two?" 

Nora shrugs. "I trust you," she says. 

Mona positions herself behind Nora, on her knees. She hums, running her hands through Nora's hair experimentally. "I think two," she says. "Two is the right number." 

Nora makes a vague noise of agreement, and lets her head sink forward a little into the cushion she's holding. Mona takes her time, finger-combing Nora's hair into two parts and setting one to drape across Nora's shoulder while she works with the other. "Is this okay?" Mona asks. 

Nora feels Mona's hands take a section of her hair at the front, separate it into three parts with her fingertips. It's just the right amount of touch to make Nora feel like her hair's being played with; like she's a beautiful doll and all she has to do is sit here while Mona fusses over her. It's the perfect amount of intimacy, platonic in a way that could easily give way to something lazily sexual, if she wanted. If Mona wanted. Maybe they will, later. "Yeah," Nora mumbles. "I like this."

Mona kisses the top of Nora's head, right over the French braid she's working into Nora's hair. "Good," she whispers. "Is this a good slumber party, so far?" 

Her fingers tug at Nora's braid just right and Nora hums in reply, the sound edging perilously close to a moan. "Of course," Nora says. "It's my best one ever."


End file.
